Caleb Delos Santos

No Matter What, I Hot-tub With My Love.

 

No matter what, I hot-tub with my Love.

Each time I rise to take a hot tub dip,

I must locate my fellow water dove.

Her sweety wingy hug-holds make me flip.

 

Before I reach a hot tub’s splashing zone,

I need to see my favorite Angel’s glow.

Her light turns loose anxieties to stone

and churns my wild hail-hate into snow.

 

Once I descend into that flaming bath,

I must connect to my best Mermaid friend.

She tail-whips me with fish jokes and her laugh.

She sings the sweetest themes, and I transcend.

 

No matter what, I hot-tub with the One

who makes all hot tubs warmer than the Sun.

Sundays Beside My Love.

 

When creaking church seats bleed my energy,

When preppy worshippers screech like bent doves,

When bad “snack tables” run out of coffee,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When church aristocrats performance pray,

When paid church hands snag cash “for God above,”

When white applauds lead me to praise Mondays,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When Discount Jesus (the pastor) arrives,

When their fake friendship slips off like morgue gloves,

When they enrage “in grace” and threaten lives,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When Sunday seats snake my vivacity,

I find my Love, and she alone saves me.

On Everlasting Thirsts.

 

A bucket always dumps more than a drop.

A firehose explodes more than a flame.

A geyser shot cannot un-stomp a crop.

A drowning wave cannot unclaim a name.

 

A fleet of hail and sleet will beat a tree.

A wild creek will reap a thirsty bee.

An avalanche will mute a symphony

and silently dilute diversity.

 

A holy stream redeems the driest eye.

But, “manly” fountains “for the Lord” can drill.

The Savior’s endless well might satisfy,

but sweaty zealots’ bursting dams can kill.

 

A steady drop might never quench a thirst,

but bucket dumps will always murder first.